


all fives

by braithwaites



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, F/M, Flirting, Porn With Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Sex, Self-Indulgent, Teasing, Wholesome Micah Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-09-18 14:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16996455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braithwaites/pseuds/braithwaites
Summary: They didn't have a table for dominoes or poker or blackjack in Colter, but that didn't mean Emma didn't get the urge to play.





	1. Chapter 1

Were you actually a Van der Linde if you didn’t have a snooty horse?

Emma watched as Bounty – her amber champagne Missouri Fox Trotter – nipped at the ends of Micah's hair, tossing ratty blonde locks into the air before huffing at him when he turned around to give him lip. He threw his head back and made a good show of looking superior.

So, maybe he wasn't as pretty as The Count, but he had the infuriating personality, especially when it came to men she took a shine to.

They didn't have a table for dominoes or poker or blackjack in Colter, but that didn't mean she didn't get the urge to play. Emma sat there with her boots hitched up on the seat of the chair across from her, sliding smooth domino pieces across her gloved palms. They clicked on impact before falling away in the other direction when she shifted her hands.

Micah batted a hand at Bounty's muzzle, close enough to show his intent but far enough away to keep from _actually_ smacking her horse.

He wasn't a good man, but he knew better than to piss her off.

When Micah turned back to his work, she watched as Bounty's hooves moved in the snow, crunching down into the flesh flakes mixed with mud. He hesitated, waiting for Micah to be distracted enough with his gun to not expect him to strike. Again.

He leaned his head down and took a chunk of Micah's hair into his mouth, giving it what looked to be a gentle tug at the scalp.

Micah's head snapped back, his hat pushed up and off the top of his head by Bounty's broad nose. It fell onto the ground, and he whipped around when he knew the horse wasn't still holding onto him. Nobody needed to get scalped like that, least of all him.

“Sweeney!” he called out.

Not Bounty, but Sweeney. Emma pressed her lips together to keep from grinning.

Without taking his eyes off of the horse right in front of him, Micah rubbed at the base of his skull. His face gave an ugly scrunch. “Get over here--”

Emma let her boots fall down onto the ground, and she stood, tugging her coat farther around her middle. If he wanted her over there, all he had to do was ask. As she walked over to him, she tucked dominoes into her pockets, weighing them down just as much as unspent shells.

“What d'you need?” she asked. Her tone was light, but not teasing. Non-chalant, but not bored. She sounded interested and a little charmed, if anything.

Micah glanced at her. Surprise just barely reached his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced with a not-quite-believable frown. Like he never expected her to react to him, to show up when he called, to entertain his bullshit.

“Feed your damn horse.”

“Bounty?” Emma rubbed a hand up over the horse's neck and between his ears. “Looks to me like you've fed him recently enough.”

The frown creasing Micah's brow eased.

“Your horse is a jealous little shit, isn't he?”

If Bounty spoke their language, Emma wasn't unconvinced that he wouldn't have just bit something of Micah's clean off for saying something like that. But he didn't, so he stood still, shifting on his feet to move closer to her.

“My horse,” she clarified, “is suspicious of everyone I interact with.”

Emma could see the moment on Micah's face – the moment when he decided to take a step forward, to chance getting his ear chomped if it meant getting his hands on her. There was no denying his bravery when it came to copping a feel. She wasn't sure if sacrifices had been made for less, but she wasn't going to question him.

He settled both of his thin-fingered hands on her lower back before pushing them farther downward, feeling over the curve of her ass beneath her thick winter layers.

She watched him as he touched her, their faces pulled so close together that she could smell the campfire in his hair. She saw every line in his skin, every fleck of damage from the sun. She saw his lips part and his eyelids droop and his jaw twitch as his hands curled inward, gripping tighter than before.

Then, Micah stopped. His brow knitted forward, wrinkling the skin there, and his hands worked across her ass with no amount of elegance or care.

“What are you carrying?” he asked, incredulous.

Emma thought for a moment, her memory locked behind the pleasure of their proximity. The second she turned the key, though, she snorted a laugh.

Micah dipped one of his fingers into her pocket and pulled out a domino – a six by six spinner tile, no less. While he looked displeased with his discovery, she was sure she couldn't have looked more delighted. Her lips parted in a smile, and she gathered up Micah's hand between her own, kissing over the place where is fingertips met the smooth domino.

“Wanna play?” she asked, her eyes huge and brown as she peered up at him.

He stared down at her, considering her mouth and her gloved hands around his fingers and what he'd felt on just a moment before, and then, he cracked a smile. There wasn't much Emma was weak for, but watching Micah Bell choose her was one of those things.

“What's the wager?” Micah asked, and when Bounty craned his head to bite at his hair again, he ducked and scooped an arm around her waist.

Emma made a thoughtful noise under her breath as she began removing the dominoes from her pockets one by one. There was always the obvious – winner gets to be on top. But then, there were other options. Loser feeds the horses for a week. Winner gets one of the last tins of strawberries. Loser has to run naked through Colter with only a pair of boots and their dreams.

The corner of her mouth curled, thinking about Micah in just a pair of boots. Maybe some chaps, if she was feeling generous.

“Winner gets the down-stuffed pillow tonight,” she murmured, tilting into him as they walked. “And loser brings them their dinner in bed, where it's warm. That sound fair to you?”

Micah rolled his eyes. He was shit at dominoes.

“You know what? Fine.”

Emma nudged against him, chuckling. “Don't look so sour about it. I could've offered worse.”

“Yeah, but...” As they shoved into one of the lesser populated buildings, Micah wound both arms around her waist instead of one, walking awkwardly behind her as she found one of the splintered old tables and two splintered old chairs. “You could've offered better, too.”

She dropped all of the domino pieces on the table top and tugged her gloves off one finger at a time.

“Get the fire started,” Emma told him. “I'll get us set up.”


	2. Chapter 2

Even with a score of forty-two to ninety-five, Micah seemed more determined than frustrated, hunched as he was over the table. The green scarf he usually wore beneath his hat sat at the corner of the table, pooled there without a thought as the fire burned hotter and the game grew more intense.

Emma thumbed over a two spinner tile and stared across at him. This wasn't a game of five finger filet. This wasn't some spur-of-the-moment shooting contest with the cans from dinner.

It was just dominoes.

His brow pushed forward as he squinted at his tiles. His lips moved without making any word she could decipher, narrow fingers tapping against the table as he counted out the numbers on the table. His last move had opened her up for an excellent ending play – a two on one side and a six on the other.

She still had a few tiles left, but all she needed was five to pull out a win. True to her nature, she wanted to throw down a ten for good measure.

“I swear by all that is holy, Emma Sweeney, if you've got somethin' good in that hand of yours...”

So, maybe that was why she was oftentimes sore over poker. There was no hiding anything on that face of hers. The moment she was poised to win anything, smugness draped over her like as if it was fur-lined.

“Why are you complaining?” Emma asked, one arm slung over the back of the chair as she tapped her fingers over the remaining tiles in her hand as if she was spoiled for choice. In a way, she was. “You're getting something good out of this, no matter who wins. The only difference is you'll have to tug your pants back on to go get me dinner.”

Micah blew out an annoyed noise through his mouth. He reeled back, shoving his dominoes away from him. They skittered over the table, face-up, and Emma noticed quickly enough that he'd been holding onto a number of useful tiles.

She didn't know if she'd bring that up later, but... until then.

Emma set down her two spinner and saw every bit of determination Micah held in his chest flicker, threatening to go out in a rush of frozen Colter air.

“One hundred and five,” she said with a sincere smile.

Micah's head sank back, baring the long line of his neck and his bobbing Adam's apple. The skin was reddened from both the heat of the fireplace and the impatience of razor burn. “Fucking dominoes.”

“Fucking dominoes,” Emma echoed.

Her chair groaned as she scooted back over the old floorboards, rocking herself up onto her feet. “It's a real shame, you having to spend quality time with the lady you're screwing.”

Micah scratched over the blonde hair on his jaw before tipping his head back up, looking at her with an expression that seemed almost delighted despite his loss. “Any other man would have trouble getting it up after getting trounced like that. Don't know many men who get stiff over losing.”

“I noticed you said 'any _other_ man.'”

He laughed, reaching out to grab a handful of her coat. Pulling her forward was easy enough, seeing as that's where she wanted to be.

“Oh, you noticed that, did you?” Micah asked her. There was a growl under his voice, a playful thing that told her all she needed to know before climbing into one of those stiff old beds with him. If that's where they ended up. “I knew you were smart, but you've gone and _impressed_ me, Sweeney.”

He loved calling her that. _Sweeney_. It was less of a mouthful than _Van der Linde_ , though it didn't get him half as hard. Aside from that, he knew what she preferred to call herself. It was healthier to go by her preferences than not.

Emma wobbled a step forward before propping herself up against the table. She settled down right in front of him, her knees pressed together between his.

“Do I get something special, then?” she asked, smoothing both of her hands through his long, unkempt hair. It was a simple color. Straw. Wheat, sometimes. But it was soft, too, and moved like silk between her fingers until she reached a knot near the very end. She slid her hand out rather than bringing any attention to it. “You know, for skinning you proper at dominoes.”

Micah arched a brow and laid his hands down heavily on Emma's thighs. “You mean to say that you want more from me than bragging rights?”

She was already shrugging off her coat when he finished posing that purely hypothetical question. Beneath that heavy, fur-lined coat was another coat, thinner and dyed a rich red. Then, a vest of faded brocade and a shirt that buttoned right up to her jaw.

“Bragging rights won't get me off,” Emma said before clunking one of her boots up onto the seat of Micah's chair, positioned right between his thighs. “Well, I mean, I guess they could, but it wouldn't be as satisfying.”

Micah tugged off her boot and tossed it aside. Not a moment later, the other joined it sprawled on the floor in front of the fire. The deep brown leather was scuffed anyway; there was no reason to treat them gently, not when there were important things that needed doing.

That left her in just her trousers, perched on the edge of the table, staring at him with the fire flickering in her dark eyes. He rubbed a hand over her stomach where it rested against the waist of her jeans.

“Clear the dominoes,” Micah murmured, the teasing in his voice replaced with a matter-of-fact edge that was keen enough to make Emma squirm. “You might get a splinter from this sorry table, but at least you won't have tiles sticking to your back.”

As he unbuttoned her trousers and set about working on his own layers, Emma skimmed her hands over the surface of the table, knocking every one of the dominoes down onto the floor. She'd pick them up later, if she remembered. If she didn't, someone else would find them eventually. No one was going to leave their set behind in Colter when they moved out.

She sprawled back once the table was cleared. Her hair stuck into the wood in places, but that was nothing more than a passing pinch or tug.

Micah hitched her hips up off of the table without a word, tugging her jeans down over her ass and all the way to her ankles. He grabbed them both in one hand, holding her legs up in the air even after her bottoms fell to the floor.

She could just imagine the show he was giving himself, with her thighs pressed together like that.

“You want me like this, then?” Emma asked him. Heat crept into the tone of her voice, dripping around the edges like sweat down her spine. “Rather than on my stomach?” She let go of a short laugh that sounded more like a sigh than anything else. “Adventuresome.”

Micah was still staring at the swell of her ass when he answered. “Yeah, like this.”

A thrill swelled in her chest. They'd only started fucking about a week before the job in Blackwater, which meant their options were limited. They hadn't even fucked in a bed until Colter, and that didn't even count. And Micah had his preferences.

Most of the time, he pressed her to or over something, chest to her back, cock wedged between her thighs or buried in her from behind. If it wasn't that, they just swapped turns sucking on each other. She never complained. She didn't have anything to complain _about_.

Still, having Micah curling over her was different, and different was exciting.

He let her legs sink downward, spreading them once they were resting against the very edge of the table. She watched him as his lips parted, as his blue eyes darkened as he got a good look at her in the flickering firelight.

The tip of his tongue roamed clumsily over his bottom lip before he began to hurriedly unbutton his own trousers.

Micah was always eager to have his cock out, but that was almost frenzied.

She couldn't have been more excited.

“Get _in_ me,” Emma murmured, fingers curling around the table's edge as she pulled herself closer to the end and closer to him. The words weren't a demand so much as a plea, which brought something else out in him. “Give me what you think I deserve.”

_For winning_ , she finished in her mind. _Or just in general_.

Micah leaned over her as he tugged his drawers down, his cock broad and red and already a little wet. He used a hand to guide himself towards her, and when the head of his cock rubbed against her clit, Emma let go of a breathy moan that put an impressive arch in her back.

“That's good,” she groaned.

“Fuck yeah, it is.”

Micah rutted against her without pushing inside, following the soaked valley between her lips with his cock, knowing how thoroughly that would warm them both up.

After a while of that, Emma wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hauled him closer. She didn't stop until she could feel his belly pushed against her stomach. His skin was fire-hot, soft where it wasn't muscle, and she felt a pang in her chest that she'd missed out on having that feeling for so long.

“In me,” Emma pushed, her blunt nails biting at the nape of his neck. This time, her voice carried a more urgent note. “Come _on_ , Micah.”

He pushed an inch of his cock into her, then followed up with the remaining three. The pressure eased quickly enough as he mouthed against her throat. Scratchy, from his mustache. Pleasurable, from his teeth and tongue. He grunted against her skin, digging his feet down against the floorboards to hitch her up a little higher still.

Anything to get deeper. Anything to fuck her like she wanted.

At least, that was how it felt to Emma.

“Talk to me,” she said, struggling in vain to keep the whine out of her voice.

She couldn't help herself. Micah was a _powerful_ fuck, and he had enough endurance to drive her hard and fast, no matter how cold it was outside, no matter how badly he lost at dominoes.

“God, you're a needy bitch, aren't you?” Micah ground out against the curve of her neck. “I'm already fucking you.”

Her cunt practically _trembled_ when he spoke. She pushed her shoulders back against the table to rut her hips up that much higher, slamming down against Micah's body in a desperate attempt to get him even deeper. That was exactly what she wanted, and he knew that.

His free hand wound deep into her hair, snapping back just hard enough to give the handful of locks a tug.

“I never met anyone as cock-hungry as you are.”

Emma tipped her head back against his hand and the rough grain of the wooden table. Her toes curled as he plowed into her, hips snapping wildly, as if he was only pursuing his own pleasure. She knew that wasn't true; she knew how Micah operated in bed better than anyone else, even after just a few weeks.

She was observant. And, remembering the tiles he'd held in-hand rather than playing, she knew he was soft on her.

“Give it to me harder, then,” Emma all but begged, feeling no shame at the ragged sound of the moan in her throat. She ached for what they had when he was away for longer than a few days. Ached. Now, she wanted to ache for different reasons. “Fuck me, Micah. _Fuck me_.”

He did.

Micah lifted her up into his arms, still supported by the strength of the table, and laid into her with every scrap of power he had left after a long day of riding, running, gunning. His hair hung in his face, but his eyes were on her, blue and heavy-lidded and unmoving. Not once did he look away. He didn't want to miss anything, and neither did she.

“You know what you get for winning?” Micah asked her. The answer was so obvious that she didn't even speak. Instead, she spread her thighs and let him bury his hand down between their bodies. “Yeah... Of course you know. You're a smart girl.”

His fingertips were rough and agile on a good day, but between how hard he was fucking her and their angle, the stroke of his fingers was clumsy. Clumsy, but effective.

He knew just how to work her over, rutting up against her clit until he felt her muscles surge. He didn't stop, even when she gasped and shuddered and cried out his name, even when she dug her nails into his skin and held on even tighter to him.

Emma's chest heaved forward when Micah refused to relent. The urge to protect herself was too powerful to resist, but there was no protecting herself from Micah, not when he had a mission or when he had something to prove.

“You're gonna cum for me again,” he groaned. His cheeks trembled as he ground his molars, trying to keep himself from filling her up right there. “That's what you get for winning.”

Her back bowed before she slammed herself back down against the table. One of her heels hooked the edge of the table, and she lifted herself closer to him, overstimulated and desperate to be worked even harder. Which was exactly what happened yet again.

She came silently when her second orgasm rolled over her, almost powerful enough to knock the wind clear out of her chest.

And Micah.

Well, Micah pulled out of her and came onto the floor under the table instead, his chest rising and falling with every breath, shoulders tight and cheeks apple-red. He grunted and moaned, chewing over his bottom lip with his teeth as he emptied himself out onto the old wooden floorboards rather than inside of her.

Emma busied herself with calming down, one hand settled against her stomach as she sucked in breaths as deep as she could manage. Everything felt like it was on fire.

She'd be aching, for damn sure.

“Good game,” Micah grunted, falling right back to his teasing self as he leaned heavily against the table. He hadn't even had time to pull up his pants or button up his shirt, and he laughed under his breath when he felt Emma brush her fingertips up over his belly. “Fuck, I'm gonna... be feeling that in a few hours.”

Emma struggled to sit up, but she managed. Her sudden shift in position drew them close together, almost nose-to-nose. She stared at him, the corners of her mouth tipping upward in a small, but well-fucked smile.

“Not to be a needy bitch,” she murmured, “but you know what I could use?”

Micah leaned forward and bowed his head down against her shoulder. Amusement riddled his words when he told her, “Don't fuckin' say it.”

“Dinner.”

He groaned and began tucking himself back into his trousers. But, no matter how much he complained and how often he rolled his eyes at her as they got themselves back into their clothes, he couldn't quite wipe the crooked smile off of his face.

Emma noticed that, too.


	3. Chapter 3

There was no such thing as a comfortable bed in Colter.

The banked fire was burning bright and hot after Micah took a poker to it none too gently. He added another log and waited for it to catch before taking his leave of the old, abandoned house in search of dinner.

That was the price of losing, after all. Stoke the fire. Fluff the pillow. Serve the dinner. All in all, it wasn't a bad deal.

Emma slipped back into her coat before crouching and beginning to pick up the domino tiles one by one. There were some close to the fireplace. Some where hidden by the table, but Micah hadn't emptied himself out onto any of the tiles. Thank God. She found one under the bed, along with an old, long forgotten sock and a small stack of books.

Once they tiles were all accounted for, she climbed up onto the bed and waited, the pillows pushed back against the wooden frame of the bed. Fingers of cold slipped through the window above her head, forcing her to hunker down even more tightly. She cinched up every space where the icy air might have found its way through.

Her stomach gave a low, rumbling growl as she sat there, covered up from her neck to her toes, waiting for Micah Bell to deliver her a meal.

Felt like paying a prostitute to take your confession, but she hoped he wouldn't screw her over. Not directly after screwing her, at least. That just seemed like bad manners.

Emma squirmed on the thin mattress. It was padded with a few blankets in a vain attempt at comfort, but there wasn't much you could do out there. She'd rather toss a bedroll over a strip of dirt than sleep in a bed like that one, but there wasn't any dirt outside so much as snow and frostbite.

So, she squirmed and sighed and tried to think of anything else. Anything that wasn't just Micah. Or the tile he held back. Or the way he looked at her sometimes.

Dutch didn't like that she'd taken a shine to him back in Blackwater. If anyone could tell that she was harboring something for the snake, it was her father. They got along like cats in a rainstorm – all hissing, no contact. But he was a romantic and had an eye for things that might... very distantly appear to be romance.

Sometimes, she wondered if Micah wasn't just making moves on her to ingratiate himself to Dutch. Or, maybe that was the only reason why he hadn't broken her heart yet. Why he kept going back. Why he hadn't ditched her for someone else to sheath himself in.

Her head fell back against the windowsill with a _clunk_.

Just then, she heard the sound of someone approaching, of boots crunching in hard snow.

Emma didn't fancy that she knew the sound of Micah's walk, but she could make a fair assumption. Only when the same wall as the window shuddered and the door opened did she count herself as a genius.

Wind blew into the slowly warming room, as well as a few flurries of snow. Along with all that ice was something a good deal hotter. At least, in her eyes.

In his hand, Micah carried a beaten-up platter of things. Not only had he neglected to bring her a bowl of whatever Pearson had scared up for dinner – bless the man – but he'd brought her bites that made her feel like some kind of society woman.

Granted, the food was nothing but salted meat and crackers and a few different kinds of mushy fruit, but it was the thought that counted.

“A fine meal for the lady,” Micah said, donning some sort of hoity toity accent that made Emma snort out a laugh. He bowed at the waist, his belly fighting against his belt's buckle. “There anything _else_ she wants before I freeze **both** of my balls off?”

Emma tipped her nose up to the ceiling. He could manage something mildly convincing, but she was the daughter of Dutch van der Linde. She could do fancy like she was born into it. “That should be fine, sir.”

She made a grab for the plate only to have Micah swipe it away at the last moment, ticking his finger at her.

“Ah, ah, ah. You're forgettin' something, miss.”

Emma reared back, her arched brow making one eye look larger than the other. “What? Gimme my _food_ , Micah.”

Her hand darted out, but only grabbed chilly air. Again.

“Say, 'thank you,' you old witch!”

Emma gasped so loudly, she felt her jaw pop. She pulled herself up onto her knees on the bed, rubbing at her jaw and cheek. “That's a mighty fine thing to say to a woman half your age!” Despite the absolute horror in her voice, she couldn't fight the grin off her face.

It crept up on her like some frightening thing in the night, but it felt like a spreading warmth through her chest.

She held her hand out to Micah and stared him dead in the eyes.

And then, quietly, she told him: “Thank you.”

He set the plate down in her hand with a laugh before dropping his hat on the foot of the bed. “Who ever taught you to be so fucking loud?”

“You never met my mama,” Emma explained, falling back onto the mattress and onto her ass. “And you know how Dutch can get when you rile him up.” She looked up from her dinner to Micah's face. Her smile had softened as she spoke. “I was born screaming, sweetheart.”

Micah laughed – sudden and sharp before the sound petered out in something that was more of a murmured chuckle.

“I coulda guessed that,” he said. Reaching over, he snatched up a piece of salted meat, but before he deposited it into his mouth, he had something else to say. “You're no quieter than a banshee when you've got my cock stuffed in you.”

Emma booted him in the side, just hard enough to make him almost choke on the bite he'd taken.

“You ain't heard how loud I can scream,” she told him, shoulders hitched up as she tucked in to the food he'd gotten her. “Maybe you'll find out one of these days. Long as you keep on losing at dominoes.”

The fire flickered along the crooked line of his profile as he tipped his head back and groaned.

He liked pretending that he didn't like playing with her, but she knew that wasn't the truth. There was a lot he'd do if it meant spending time with her. She liked that.

She didn't plan on abusing it, either.

Not so long as he kept letting her win. Not so long as he kept on going back to her once the game was over.


End file.
